The Ornament Keeper by Eva Marie Everson

Author:Eva Marie Everson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: ebook
Publisher: New Hope Publishers
Published: 2018-06-19T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

December 2010

“I think we should change our anniversary date or Travis’s birthday,” Jackson said from the breakfast table one Sunday in early December as he pored over the monthly calendar filled with scheduled events.

Travis’s head popped up from over his cereal bowl. “Huh?”

Jackson laughed at our son, then tossed his hair. “I’m joshing with you.” Then he looked up at me. “I’m serious, though. Look at this. School parties. Church events. Our anniversary—”

“Which we never celebrate,” I interjected from the counter we used as a coffee station.

Jackson puckered his lips and dramatically kissed the air. “Every day is a celebration with you, Leesh.”

Sara diverted her attention from the book she was reading long enough to say, “Aww,” to which Travis added his “Eww.”

“Leesha, what’s this thing here? S’s HHP.”

I finished pouring coffee into Jackson’s favorite mug and brought it to where he sat, then peered over his shoulder. “That’s Sara’s Holy Hands performance.”

Sara kept her nose pointed toward the book, but managed to say, “Y’all are gonna love it.”

“Is that the thing you’ve been going to on Wednesday nights?”

Now Sara looked up, her eyes dancing. “Daddy, wait till you see. Tiffany and me are doing—”

“Tiffany and I,” I corrected her as I took my own place at the table.

She groaned. “Tiffany and I are doing a special number. Have you ever heard Amy Grant’s ‘Breath of Heaven’?”

Jackson shook his head while I nodded.

“Oh, good,” Sara said, then closed her book to concentrate on her Cheerios. “That’s at least one of my parents. You’re going to be so proud when you see I do this.” She crossed her eyes at me, and I shook my head at her, all the while wondering which parent she spoke of. Was she glad I had heard the song or that Jackson had not?

Either way, Sara was correct. Jackson and I were both extremely proud of her, although for a while there, I thought I’d be the only one to see her performance. The only one to cheer her on afterward.

As usual, Jackson worked late that night. And as usual, I got both kids ready by myself while the clock ticked louder by the second with Sara moaning over it—”I have to be there early, Mom. I can’t be late,”—as though the world would come to an absolute end should she be five minutes behind schedule.

“I’ll get you there,” I told her, my voice filled with exasperation. “I’m on my own here, you know,” I added between gritted teeth as I jammed my feet into the boots I’d left by the hallway bench and coat tree. “Okay, let’s go! What are we waiting on?”

True to form, in Jackson’s superhero sort of way, as the Holy Hands choir walked out from the wings and onto the stage, my husband slipped into the empty seat beside me. He’d somehow managed to get home, shower, change, and look so incredibly handsome and well put together, I almost forgot to be angry with him.

Almost.

Travis immediately left his seat to crawl into his father’s lap.

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